


Bad Taste Ball

by Anna_Hopkins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Archbishop of Banterbury, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crack, Gen, Halloween, Harry is an absolute ledge, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14588979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins
Summary: (Prompt fill of one of my own prompts) When the Malfoy Manor Costume Ball declares a "bad taste" theme, Harry agrees to somethingterribleto secure his costume contest prize.





	Bad Taste Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qualamity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualamity/gifts).



Like many good stories, this one began in a pub on October 10th, 2002. "Five years since the war ended, and the timing feels right," insisted Ron from behind his mug of Butterbeer. "I still can't believe we were invited to the Malfoy Manor Costume Ball, but we probably suit their theme without trying. Come on, Harry, you've got to coordinate with the rest of us on this one. It'll be great!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is going to be another 'Auror team-building exercise', isn't it? Don't think Kingsley doesn't see you putting those receipts on billables every year." Because somehow, no matter the amount, Ron _did_ bill the Ministry for costume supplies every year. It was no wonder he wasn't getting a raise.

"It is now," Ron grinned. "Imagine the headlines, 'Aurors win the costume contest three years running!' Kingsley won't complain if we get good publicity out of it, and 'Mione still has blackmail on Skeeter, we're all set."

By the end of the night, by some miracle of charisma (or, possibly, the six or seven refills of Harry's Firewhiskey), Ron had brought Harry around to the idea he was proposing. And if it _was_ in terrible taste, well, hopefully he could pin it on his Auror partner.

  
  
The Thursday of Halloween, Harry took the day off from the Auror department (as did most of the Aurors every year) and spent several hours Transfiguring himself. Despite his best friend's assurances, his nerves were still getting to him. Bad taste was one thing, but this? He'd rather have gone crossdressing like two years ago.

Ron apparently could tell Harry was having second thoughts: the "Oi, mate!" echoed from the parlor at Grimmauld Place up to the dressing room where Harry had been standing.

"Come on then," he called, "what's your progress?" By the way Ron's face paled dramatically as Harry stepped into the room, nearly done with the costume, he'd gotten the appearance right after all.

" _Ronald_ ," asked Harry in a mocking tone that made the redhead flinch, "are you _quite sure_ that this is going to be funny, and not get the lot of us kicked out and uninvited for next year?" He'd been researching this character all day using Pensieve memories to get it right, like he'd done for the Fudge costume last year, and the practiced gestures and voice were already coming through.

"Y-yeah, mate," Ron squeaked as Harry levelled a sharp glare on his head in the Floo. "I swear I'll cover for you if it goes wrong." Harry tried out the smirk that he'd seen in a few memories, and had to admit it was fun seeing his friend's reactions. "Bloody hell," Ron choked out, "that's creepily accurate."

An alarm spell chimed in the background of Ron's end of the Floo, and the redhead turned to look somewhere behind him. "I've got to go, mate," he said, "Mione's keeping us to a strict schedule so we're not late this time. The Department will change costumes once you arrive, so give us a half hour or so before you show up to warn the host."

Harry blinked. "I thought you said you'd already warned him--" but Ron had already disappeared.

  
  
The grandfather clock in the dressing room was chiming nine-thirty by the time Harry had finished Transfiguring himself taller. He'd had to redo the left leg three times before it looked right (and wasn't longer than the right leg) and now there was only about an hour before his fashionably-late arrival time. Harry didn't trust his Transfiguration skills to change his voice, though: for that, he'd appropriated a potion from the Aurors' supply room earlier in the week, marking it down as a 'Ministry-approved use'. Maybe he was following Ron's lead a little too much.

All this effort would have been much easier with Polyjuice, he reflected, though then it wouldn't have been quite as funny. Harry practiced his stride on the second-floor landing and had to duck to avoid a spiderweb he'd missed in cleaning the house earlier in the week.

Harry had to admit this idea was beginning to seem funnier the more he thought about it. Imagine their faces when he showed up! He snorted, which was a funny feeling on his altered face, and burst out laughing at his reflection in the mirror.

"Tempus," he wheezed between high-pitched cackles. It was already fifteen past ten; just about time to Apparate over to Wiltshire for this potential fiasco. Harry nitpicked over his face in the mirror, testing out the most important expressions, and as an afterthought cast a spell to protect against Finite Incantatem, which would ruin all the fun. From the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place, he turned on his heel and Apparated away, giggly with anticipation.

Ron had better pull through on this one, or Harry wouldn't be able to show his face in public for another year.

  
  
Malfoy Manor was as ostentatious as ever, down to the peacocks. Harry was sorely tempted to hex one of them, just to get in character a bit more, but resisted in favor of maintaining his invisibility under the Cloak. People were already out on the grounds, he could see, standing around the bonfires and drinking champagne out of gilded flute glasses; Harry approached the doorknocker and held out his invitation from under the cloak, whispering his name and presenting his wand for identification. It glowed purple for a moment, letting him walk through the closed door as if it were an illusion. The moment he was in the Manor's entrance hall, he took off the Cloak and put on an overpowered Disillusionment in its place, looking around for Ron and the other Aurors.

It both peeved and excited Harry to notice no one had put on a costume in nearly as bad taste as the ones Ron was organizing; they would clearly win the costume contest, but the issue of being kicked out still stood. Harry downed a glass of champagne from a passing house-elf as he made his way into the ballroom unannounced, scanning the crowd for his group. Malfoy was chatting up a group of Wizengamot members at one end of the ballroom, which meant Ron and the others were probably at the other end, if not outside. Ron had told him to look for a Veela in a pink hat - that was Robards' costume this year - when they were planning his big entrance two days ago; pressed against the wall, Harry took advantage of his current height to scan the crowd. He finally spotted Robards' costume by the fountain (was that a _wine fountain_? Merlin, Draco had gone all-out this year) and took a meandering path through the other guests, knowing a few of them had already noticed his Disillusioned form moving across the room and were eyeing his indistinct silhouette with curiosity.

Ron was next to Robards, his costume a rather intimidating mimicry of Madam Pince. Were all the Aurors dressing up as women, or was that just a coincidence? Harry bent to whisper in his ear, and the would-be redhead jumped nearly a foot in the air, clipping Harry's chin with his shoulder. "You git, I almost spilled my drink!"

Harry had been practicing his dialogue in his head all afternoon for this moment. "I will not have your disrespect," he intoned lowly, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Have the others in place so that I may reveal myself." He could feel Ron shudder - either in fear or in repressed laughter - before he took his hand away and stood back, waiting for the signal to dispell his Disillusionment.

Ron nodded to Veela-Robards, who sent a light Stinging Hex at the Gilderoy Lockhart imposter that was Auror Shacklebolt (Harry hadn't originally believed Kingsley was in on this, but Ron had proved him wrong). A dozen Junior Aurors throughout the crowd nearby suddenly dropped their glamours to reveal standard Death Eater regalia; the crowd flinched back in time to see Ron, Robards and Kingsley turn into Bellatrix, Yaxley, and Rowle.

With a maniacal cackle, Harry dispelled his Disillusionment, and that was when the screams began. "Arise, my followers!" His voice carried over the stampede of witches and wizards fleeing for the exits. "Lord Voldemort has returned!

 

The chaos that followed was going to be the stuff of legend. Harry had been practising his illusion spells every year for different costumes; now, he conjured snakes seemingly out of the marble of the floor, and ropes of green fire that lashed out over the heads of the guests. Wizards were running amok, with the "Death Eaters" sending Body-Binds at anyone who tried to fight back; several witches and wizards had fainted straight away when Harry appeared, too. From outside, Harry could hear people shouting to "Call the Aurors!" and couldn't suppress another cackle. He _was_ the Aurors. Not that he planned for them to know.

A trio of wizards in duelling robes burst in from the gardens and engaged Harry directly; this was beginning to get out of hand. (A little voice in the back of his head was screaming something like "You don't say?!" but he ignored it.) An energy like electricity was running from the tips of Harry's fingers down his arms and into his chest; the adrenaline rush was more than he got raiding illegal arms dealers' strongholds or duelling lesser wizards one-on-one. The Elder Wand, ever holstered on his left arm, was thrumming with energy as he took the duellists out with well-placed Body-Binds.

A dozen new wizards in Death Eater robes were rushing in from elsewhere in the Manor now; Harry belatedly realized they were  _not_ Aurors in disguise. The apparently-real Death Eater neophytes were Stunning and hexing the fleeing partygoers; over the din of spellfire, Harry could hear war cries.

"The Dark Lord has returned!"

"Death to Mudbloods!"

Harry didn't give them any time to cause more trouble; he Stunned the lot of the neophytes and cast a Sonorus on his voice. "Death Eaters, hold your fire," his words rang out -- almost identical, Harry thought, to the way they had during the Battle of Hogwarts. "There is no need to spill magical blood tonight." Across the ballroom, Draco Malfoy was staring at him with a look of pure terror, and growing confusion. " _Happy Halloween_ ," he hissed, and took that moment to break through the Malfoys' anti-Apparition wards and disappear.

 

When Harry got back to Grimmauld Place after a dozen Apparition jumps across the countryside - doubling back twice just in case someone tried to track him down - he dispelled his Transfigurations, took the antidote for the voice potion, poured himself a stiff drink, and waited for the inevitable storm of fire-calls.

Ron burst into the parlor first, no longer in costume, smelling a bit singed. "Bloody hell, mate!" he exclaimed, "that was insane! I can't believe we caught a dozen  _actual_ Death Eaters in the middle of all of it."

Harry looked up, feigning confusion. "Wait, you did the costume reveal without me?"

Now it was Ron's turn to look confused, and increasingly alarmed. "Mate, you were _there_. Disguised as You-Know-Who and everything. I _saw_ you."

"What? I thought you got my Patronus." Harry wrinkled his brow. "I told you an hour ago I changed my mind."

The expression of dawning horror on Ron's face was almost too much to resist, but Harry hadn't spent several years practicing Occlumency after the war for nothing. "Ron, did something happen? Do you want a drink?"

"No," Ron had gone paler than he'd been during the fire-call earlier. "No, mate, I think I need to file an incident report. Are you sure you're not taking the piss?" There was desperation in his voice now, and Harry stifled his urge to laugh with a long drink of his Firewhiskey.

"I'm serious," he told Ron with the most sincere expression he could manage.

Ron ran to the entrance hall to Disapparate like there were hippogriffs chasing after him.

**Author's Note:**

> For more absolute crack, join us on Discord by messaging my tumblr: annabelle-hopkins.tumblr.com


End file.
